


World Sick

by stellte



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-28
Updated: 2014-03-28
Packaged: 2018-01-17 07:22:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1378825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stellte/pseuds/stellte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"...we can't keep living like we're the only ones who matter, okay?" </p><p>Biting off more than you could chew was the Elric brother's specialty, and they'd only gotten better at it in the two years that they were apart.</p><p>(Post-Shamballa Elric brothers.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	World Sick

**Author's Note:**

> Welp, here goes nothing! I'm writing this as I go along. I hope to update every week.

Even as a child, this hadn’t been difficult.

His mother telling him to help Alphonse pick out some clothes to wear after they’d gotten out of the bathtub was _annoying_ but it hadn’t been anything more than that. Granted, he was grudging, especially when Al pawed at him with his grubby and fat fingers, but it had been easy enough. The bubbly younger brother would simply hop along Ed’s side and worm himself into any t-shirt or pair of pants that was thrown at him. Ed never heard of any protests to his choices.

For the first time in his life, Ed was hearing a roar of protests over the subject of clothes in his head.

Clothes, plain and muted in color, hung neatly in the racks in front of him. Behind him, a buzzing silence that was his younger brother’s presence hummed directly in his ears. He could feel a notable pressure on his temples when he pushed his hands through clothing that sputtered out bits of dust. Knowing how long it’d been since these had been touched…

“Brother, should we try to find somewhere else? Maybe there’s a suit shop open somewhere. It’d be a lot easier.”

“No, Al,"

God, but this was _difficult._ Who was he bullshitting?

Sifting through the layers of cotton and wool, he gently thumbed the shirt towards the end of the rack and stopped on it, if only for a fraction of a second. The fabric of the shirt was familiar. That was significant enough to spook him, and his hand moved away quickly enough so that he didn’t even register the significance of the shirt.

( _Drunk night he wouldn’t remember. Drunk night and grabbing at the fuckin’ thing.)_

“Brother, are we going to be late?”

“ _No_ , Al,” Edward said again. His hand made contact with a hanger, picking up a single-breasted jacket by the wire and turning to walk towards Al. Al stood up as soon as Ed faced him and from the corner of his eye he watched early morning light from the window jumping onto the hardwood. It spanned itself up the wall as Ed’s heels clicked against the ground, and he tried not to shift too uncomfortably when Ed brought the jacket up to hold flush against his chest.

With Ed so close, he could see some of the light reflected in his hazel eyes. He could see vestiges of his original eye color flicked throughout the iris in this light. He’d found that this place washed everything out; it had started with his vibrant red coat turned to a murky maroon, and then it was Ed’s golden eyes and Al’s own hair. Other things followed, and they’d blurred together, too. It was a murky mess.

Ed shifted the fabric of the jacket against Al, letting out a huff. From here, too, Al could see the bags underneath his eyes and their darkness rivaled the dark blue color of the jacket pressed against him. Al didn’t say anything when Ed looked far-off, again.

“Glad you found something that fit,” Al started, trying to inject some cheer into his voice.

“I figured you two would be the same size, like I said,” Ed answered, sounding distracted, “in _some_ of his jackets.”

Al tried not to think too much about the _you too_ portion when he nodded his head and took the jacket off of the hanger, putting it down on the foot of the bed next to his trousers and oxfords. He’d never had any problem with hand-me-downs, but this was entirely different. All he could think about how much his skin was crawling and how much he was smiling in Ed’s direction. 

All Edward could think was that he was glad he’d found something for his brother to wear.

“ _Brother_?” Alphonse broke the prolonged silence between them.

“Yeah, Alphonse?” Ed said, voice sounding vague against Al’s synthetic cheer.

“I’m….uh, gonna go get changed, now.” 

_…Oh._

Edward hadn’t realized how _awkwardly_ he’d been standing in the middle of the room, looking at his brother who held a now put assembled black suit in his hand. There were no more pieces of clothing to sift through; everything would be ready to go when Alphonse emerged from the bathroom. Alphonse made a sort of half-smile at him, and Ed could see. It was really only to assure Ed, if anything.

He felt very far away when he answered.  
“Oh…yeah. Yeah, okay.”

“Okay, just give me a few." 

Smiling up at him once more and then carefully avoiding eye contact, Alphonse walked past him with the clothes held to his chest and disappeared from sight. Ed could hear him opening and closing the bathroom door.

Edward had insisted on dressing Alphonse himself from an early age. He was sure that his mother had taken it upon herself to change the poor boy into something that actually matched, but she never let Ed know that he’d done anything but well. He’d never wished for her to tell him, either.

Here, too, he had done it well: he’d found his brother some clothes to wear to a funeral. Some nice ones, too. Ed was sure he’d look nice in them; sharp and professional, even. He’d done it well, but he was hoping for someone to come and tell him – _no, that’s not right. Look through the closet_ again _, Edward, sweetie, find something that matches._

He heard the bathroom door open down the hall. Alphonse Elric, wearing Alfons Heiderich’s clothes, moving towards _Alfons Heiderich’s funeral_ , walked by the door – taunting the way Ed’s limbs felt like molasses, Al was _moving_ and Ed, was…

“Come on, Ed, we’re going to be late,” he said, and Edward Elric’s mind felt as thick as syrup.

_It was two hours before the funeral – two minutes ago. Wasn’t it?_

He talked past the lump in his throat – “Yep” – and thought that he’d _never_ have this much trouble in his fuckin’ life dressing someone again. He followed Alphonse towards the door.


End file.
